The Stolen Goddess
by Azaz the Unabridged
Summary: A Percy Jackson B-side to Jason's adventures. Lost Hero spoilers are everywhere. Chapter three: When in Rome, get a horrible reception from the Romans.
1. Chapter 1: Percy

**Heroes of Olympus**

**The Stolen Goddess**

Chapter One: Percy

"Percy!" _Rap. Rap. Rap._ "Percy, where are you?"

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, propping himself blearily up on the pile of pillows.

"We're going to be late! Come on, Perce, of all the days to sleep in-"

"Wait," he croaked. "Just - wait." It came out sounding dazed and stupid, but he wasn't going to beat himself up about that right now, because something had just hit him in the face like a truck full of bricks.

He had no idea where he was.

He was half-sitting in an enormous bed in an equally humongous room, with blinding sunlight pouring in through a set of floor-to-ceiling windows. The rest of the place, from huge flatscreen to the overstuffed couch against the wall, screamed _ridiculously fancy hotel room!_ at the top of its lungs, which would have been awesome if it wasn't completely messed up by the fact that he'd never seen the place before in his life and didn't know how he'd wound up here, or where "here" even was.

He bolted upright in the bed, battling his way through the ton of comforter toward the open windows. That's when he noticed his clothes. He was already completely dressed, and not just in a "fell asleep watching TV way," but fully decked out in a shirt and jeans, a pair of heavy boots, and a blue jacket that could have kept an Arctic explorer toasty. He probably should have roasted to death under the combo of the winter get-up and smothering-grade duvet, but the gear made a little more sense when he pressed his nose up against the glass of the windows. The view was amazing - miles and miles of snow, needley trees, and stick-figure skiers - but none of it was any more familiar than the hotel room. He tore himself from the National Geographic cover outside and unbolted the door.

He almost got a fist in the face as the girl in the doorway got ready for another round with the knocker. She was tall and black-haired, with big dark eyes and pursed lips. She was dressed for snow, like he was, except that her outfit looked wicked expensive and he was positive she hadn't fallen asleep in it, because her picture was probably up on the Wikipedia pages for "orderly" and "nothing out of place." She somehow managed to look both crazy pretty and pretty upset. "Come on," she sighed, giving him a disapproving glance. "We were supposed to meet the snowshoe lady ten minutes ago. Dean Kirchner wants you down there ASAP."

"We were?"

Her eyebrows arched, like _Are you for real?_ "I explained it all in the paperwork. 'Tardiness will delay the entire class, so remember to set your alarms and meet at ten'. I know you got it, because you signed and handed it in..."

"I don't remember," he protested, peering up and down the long corridor. Nothing here, from the super-modern paintings or the girl in front of him jogged his memory about snowshoeing or anything else. He tried to remember someone telling him about tardiness, but drew a blank - just like everything else he tried to remember.

She wrinkled her nose. "No excuses," she said, diving around him and striding into his room. She grabbed a card off his bedside table and waved it in his face primly. "Take the key and let's get out of here."

She sounded so authoritative that he actually took it as she held it out for him and stuffed it in his pants pocket with - what was that, a pencil? Whatever. He had bigger things to deal with. "But I don't remember," he repeated, then added quickly, "Not just about being late. I mean, snowshoeing sounds great, but-" He held up his hands pleadingly, hoping she wouldn't think he was off the deep end, even though total amnesia meant he probably _was_nuts - "I don't remember anything."

She opened her mouth like she was going to tell him off, then seemed to think better of it and started over with a nice, simple "What?" that pretty much summed up Percy's feelings, too.

"I don't know how I got here, or where here is-"

The girl took a step back and knit her eyebrows together. "Are you messing with me?" He could see her balling her hands into fists inside her jacket, but she sounded more hurt than angry. "Because between Ross and Nancy and Kurt, I've had enough practical jokes for the year, and I don't need _you_ to get in on it, thanks."

He shook his head, hoping that he looked sincere. "I'm serious. Seriously."

She looked him up and down uncertainly. "I'm Camille. Camille Lee. Do you know who _you_are?" She seemed to have switched gears from irritated to upset to curious, but she still seemed sort of bossy, like a police lady interviewing a little kid in the case of "who ran off with Percy's brain?"

"Well, yeah, you were yelling 'Percy' over and over."

She frowned. "I was just trying to get you out of there. But you know it's your name, right?"

"Definitely."

Camille nodded slowly, then tugged him out the door and closed it herself, like she totally didn't trust him to handle any of this. He couldn't blame her. "Look, Perce. You may not remember this, but I'm your class president, and I promise to get you whatever help you need."

Alright, so part of that made sense. She looked like they could be in the same grade, whatever that was. Tenth? Eleventh? He couldn't remember how old he was, much less what year he was in. "Class presidents can do that?"

"I thought you didn't remember anything," she scowled, starting them off down the hallway.

"Well - yeah, but I _also_ can't remember a class president being able to get my memory back."

It was a good thing I wasn't expecting her to crack up, because she sighed and kept looking worried. "I mean, I'll explain it to Dean Kirchner. He'll call a car to get you to the hospital, and they can treat you for, I don't know, dehydration or altitude sickness or whatever."

"No." He stopped dead in his tracks, stalling Camille in the middle of the empty hallway, too.

"Yes," she said firmly. "Percy, you're sick. You need help."

"I don't need to see a doctor," he insisted, because something in his gut was telling him that this had nothing to do with getting dried up. "It's not like that."

She let his arm go and put a hand on her hip. "You know a lot for a guy who doesn't remember anything."

He shook his head. "Look - Camille." She brightened a little when he used her name, as though she'd been worried his brain would reset itself and she'd have to start over halfway through her fix-it plan. It was a good look for her. "I'm not messing with you. It's just that... I feel fine, apart from the no-memory thing. Maybe - I don't know, maybe I just need time to think."

Camille drummed her perfectly-manicured nails against her hip and bit her lip, then gave him a sharp nod. "I can handle that."

The conviction in her voice caught him off guard. "What?"

"I said, I can get you time to think. Let's go," she said, starting off again. She didn't grab his jacket again, but he trailed after her anyway. It wasn't like he had any idea how to deal with whatever he'd gotten into. "I'll tell Dean Kirchner that you ate some bad oysters. It happened to Amanda last spring in London and no one questioned anything. I'll do the talking, so just look miserable and hold your stomach a lot."

"Who's Dean Kirchner? Is he in our grade?"

She frowned at him over her shoulder. "Dean of Students Kirchner. You only _live_ in his office."

"I guess I get into a lot of trouble?" Somehow, that didn't surprise him.

"Tell me about it," she grumbled. "He complains about you all the time."

Percy winced. "And that's how we know each other?" He barely knew anything about Camille, but he was fairly sure he didn't want to get her in trouble. All things considered, she was being way cool about the fact that one of her classmates was a few knives short of a crayon box.

"What - oh, no!" She pressed the elevator down button with what seemed like a lot more force than necessary. "I was your orientation guide when you transferred in last fall, then you started doing Latin tutoring with me, and now we hang around a lot..."

"Then we, uh, what are we?" he asked, dreading the answer a bit. Not that she wasn't cute, but he guessed love and missing all your memories didn't mix.

"Friends!" she said, and she couldn't stop into the elevator quickly enough to hide the flush that rose to her cheeks. "Can't a girl just have guy friends?"

"I wouldn't know," he offered lamely, climbing in after her. "I have amnesia."

The elevator dropped them off in a lobby even sweeter than Percy's room. Their boots sunk a whole inch into the carpet, and the ceiling had about a dozen chandeliers bigger than cars. In the center of it all was a huge fountain of backflipping dolphins. If it weren't for Camille, he would have stared at that fountain all day, but she was covering ground fast.

"Where are we?" he asked, shooting one last look at the statue in the water as they turned a corner into what Percy guessed was The Hallway of Giant Mirrors and Shiny Gold Things. "I mean, this place is insane."

"Woodley Prep class trip," she said irritably. "I wanted to go to Hawaii or St. Kitts, but everyone else voted for Colorado..."

It didn't sound like she was joking - he didn't know if she ever joked, actually - but winter break in St. Kitts was ridiculous. "What kind of school do you go to?"

She didn't turn around, but she fidgeted with a ring he hadn't noticed before, a thick band shaped like a gold vine. "We. We go to Woodley Prep. It's a really nice place, actually. The teachers are all really smart, and they treat us really well - I mean, they have to, considering the tuition, but if you have to go to boarding school, Woodley's the best place you can be."

There was something wrong about that _have to_. "Why do we have to go to boarding school?"

"You know," Camille mumbled. "Busy parents."

He came close to blurting out _Sorry, I don't know_, but caught himself at the last second. "My parents are so busy they sent me to a luxury hotel? Could be worse, right?"

"You'll change your mind sooner or later," she started, but was cut off by a loud burst of laughter from a few doors down. She took Percy's hand in her own and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Showtime."

A couple guys gave Percy good-natured elbowings as he and Camille squeezed through the knot of kids, and most of the girls flashed smiles at Camille, though a few of them made exaggeratedly scandalized expressions. A knot of kids in a corner made sour faces, but Percy followed Camille's lead and ignored them. If they wanted to pick a fight, they'd have to wait until he remembered who they were. Even though he didn't seen the same item of clothing on any two people in the room, the clothes still looked like a kind of uniform. The girls were all wearing short parkas with skintight leggings, topped off with an Abominable Snowman's worth of fur, and the guys had huge jackets with more pockets than anyone could ever use, ever. All of their stuff looked expensive, and Percy was fairly certain none of this cold weather gear had ever been worn before, which made him feel a little stupid in his beat-up, slept-in coat. There was a stitched-up gash on one arm like he'd ripped through all the layers with a knife, and a patch below his ribs that he guessed had hurt a lot whenever he got it. Maybe it was lucky that he didn't remember.

The only two adults in the room had the dress code down, too. The woman had curly dark hair tied severely, and looked like a twenty-something version of half the girls in the room. The man, who Percy figured was probably Dean Kirchner, was dressed in black from head to toe, with fluffy blond hair and glasses askew. He'd been talking exasperatedly with a freckly girl as Camille pulled Percy over, but his expression darkened as he caught sight of them. Percy really wanted to know what he'd done to get on this guy's bad side.

"Percy," he glared. "So glad you could join us."

"Uh," he started, but Camille cut him off. "He's got some kind of stomach bug," she said authoritatively. Was it just Percy, or did she sound even bossier than she had before? "You should see his bathroom, it's disgusting." A few of the girls turned up their noses, and a couple of the guys laughed and pantomimed hurling behind her back. Percy flashed them a weak smile. "I mean, I told him that seafood this far inland had to be disgusting, but that waitress kept flirting with him, and she was like, go for the house special, the oysters are delicious, and he actually _believed_ it."

Dean Kirchner cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Thank you, Camille." He looked back at the curly-haired woman. "Ms. Cameron, it looks like we'll be one short."

"Two," Camille said firmly. Both the adults look curiously at her, and for a second Percy thought the hike leader was going to call their bluff. He thought Camille had a pretty good story, but, then again, he didn't actually know what had happened last night. For all he knew, he could have flirted with a waitress and gone through a bucket of oysters. "I'll make sure he rehydrates, then check in on him to make sure he doesn't get worse-"

"That's not all you'll do," one of the girls said quietly, and half the room rippled with soft catcalls and laughter. The response made Dean Kirchner hesitate, and Percy's heart sank. This guy was going to split him off from a girl who insisted she was his friend and was willing to like a champ to help him out, all because of a few dumb high schoolers.

It was the hike leader who saved them. Before Camille could get a word in, she leaned over to Dean Kirchner. "Please make a decisions, she said. Her voice was weird and breathy, like she'd just run a marathon, or had a squeaky toy lodged down her throat, or both. "If we don't start soon, the class may be stuck on the mountain at night..."

The rest of the kids booed loudly. Apparently, the idea of missing dinner, shipping, or the enormous hotel quilts was a dealbreaker for Woodley's student body, and Dean Kirchner knew it. He waved his spindly arms for attention as he bellowed "Alright! Alright. Camille, take Percy to the breakfast bar. The rest of you, follow Ms. Cameron to the rental counter."

Camille pulled Percy away from the door as the stampede of well-dressed high schoolers passed with a few whistles in their direction. The adults both gave them pretty severe looks on their way out: Dean Kirchner was scowling at Percy, and Ms. Cameron had a curious look that made Percy try a little harder at looking sick.

"What now?" he whispered, as the noise of the Woodley Prep pack faded down the hallway. "Are we really grabbing breakfast?"

"Not here," she said, peeking down the hallway in both directions. "The restaurant is closed until lunch, which he'd _know_ if he read half the student activities emails I sent..." She tapped her foot, looking thoughtful. "We passed a pretty empty coffee place coming in yesterday. It should be quiet enough not to aggravate - whatever's happened."

"You're the president," he offered, and let her lead him back to the lobby and out into a snowy yard.

Camille took a while explaining that his was a "ski-in, ski-out" hotel, which was why they were so high up and why a snowboarder almost ran over Percy's feet. Even if she hadn't wanted to head to the mountains over break, Camille had obviously done her homework. She rattled off the history of the hotel (filled with rich people), the local nightlife (filled with fake German food, and also more rich people), and the plant life (filled with killer beetles or chopped down by rich people). "They say global warming has helped the beetles overrun the Rockies, and no one knows what to do about it..." Mostly, Percy let her talk, and tried to let the things they passed jog his memory. Chair lift? Nope. Enormous Santa Claus? Nope. Almost deserted coffee place? Definitely nope.

Camille's memory was spot on, though, because the place was near-empty. There was one little girl outside, clinging to a dog that made a point of glaring at both of them as they entered, and a few skiers cradling enormous, steaming mugs. The sight of them flipped a switch in Percy: he was suddenly ravenously hungry, and much less concerned with how he'd made it to a resort in the Rockies than with the last time he'd eaten a real meal. He rifled through his pockets for a wallet, but came up with the key card, a ballpoint pen, and a whole lot of lint. "Uh," he started, but Camille just glanced his way and waved dismissively as she pulled out a black card. "Oh. Okay. Thanks."

He probably ordered half the café, but Camille didn't seem to mind. She grabbed a coffee and headed to a table at the back, where she kept up a steady commentary on their semester at Woodley in an attempt to jog his brain. It turned out, he was a pretty lousy student (ouch) but the star of the swim team (kind of cool). She'd been helping him get his grades up (which was nice of her) but he still had a way of getting on the teachers' nerves (the dean included). "But I mean," she said, leaning toward him, "it's not like any of that explains that amnesia, and you didn't say anything about it running in the family."

"In my family?" he frowned. Something about that idea caused a flicker of recognition that nothing Camille had said and nothing he'd seen had managed to do. "I think-"

He never finished the thought, because at that moment a scream ripped through the café, and the windows shattered in a blizzard of broken glass.


	2. Chapter 2: Suraia

**Heroes of Olympus**

**The Stolen Goddess**

CHAPTER TWO: SURAIA

Suraia didn't think much of the wind until she was hanging two feet above the ground.

She'd gotten used to the constant whistling of the mountain gusts since she and Flicker had left mama's apartment five days ago. The first night, it had scraped snow off houses and streets, half blinding her as Flicker had dragged her down empty alleyways. Every evening, as she curled into Flicker's coat for warmth, it had come again, whipping the falling snow into their hiding spots, carrying low moans and the eerie sounds of the frozen mountains. Flicker had told her to ignore what the gusts carried, to hold tight, and to be brave while they waited for the hero to take them away, and Suraia had obeyed, because Flicker was the only person who was keeping her alive.

But now, she needed to be heard.

She screamed as loudly as she could, wishing for a tempest of sound, and was rewarded with a spray of glass shards and Flicker's undivided attention. The wolf sprang to her paws, fur bristling, and wheeled to face Suraia's attacker. At her full height, gray fur bristling, it was impossible to mistake Flicker for another shaggy dog. She clamped her fangs onto Suraia's boot and scrambled backward in a frantic attempt to pull her out of the blustery sky.

Suraia, more terrified than she'd been since they left Frisco, screamed again, though she couldn't focus on anything but how much she _hurt_. She was sure that Flicker and the smoky hands that had wrapped around her wrists would tear her in two at any minute, and the freezing wind had her teeth chattering between every gasping breath. Her shout seemed to redouble Flicker's efforts, but it also snapped the people in the shop out of their collective shock at the storm of glass and the sight of her hanging in midair. Most of them – even the nice lady who had brought out a bowl of water for Flicker – ran for the back of the store. But one boy moved in the opposite direction. He catapulted through the glass-edged window frame and landed squarely on his feet behind Flicker.

Suraia's heart beat even faster. For the last five snowy days, Flicker had been her only friend and protector, running off the hungry monsters that came hunting for demigods in the night, but the wolf had promised that a hero would come for both of them, to take her back to her family. Now here he was, green eyes fixed directly above her as though he could _see_whatever monster was after her, not like all the people who had looked past her attackers with glazed eyes and bemused expressions.

A girl charged out the front door a moment later, the wind whipping her black hair in her face as she shouted after the hero. "What are you doing? It's crazy out here—"

The hero didn't listen. He threw something – a butter knife? Her hero had a magic butter knife? – into the air. For a second, Suraia was terrified that it would hit her, but it made a noise like a slide whistle as it passed through something over her head, and the wind hissed and faded just enough for Flicker to get the upper hand in her battle against Suraia's attacker. The frozen fingers clasped around her wrists slid away, and she hit the icy ground with a pained help. The hero was at her side almost as quickly as Flicker; he scooped her up and carried her over to the black-haired girl before Suraia could say thank you, or ask his name, or tell him how glad she was to meet him at last. "Get her out of here," he insisted, putting her down and pushing her into the girl's arms. "Hurry!" The girl started to say something, but the hero shoved them through the door and dashed back out to flicker, who was leaping into puffs of wind-tossed snow and snarling.

Fortunately for Suraia's first encounter with her hero, his friend seemed too shocked to do anything but cling tightly to Suraia as they stood in the doorway. She saw the hero grab a pole from someone's once-neatly stacked ski gear and brandish it like a sword, giving Flicker a quick look that seemed like _We're on the same side, right?_ before jumping into the gusting snow with her. As the wind wrenched more and more dust and powder from the street, Suraia saw _parts_ coming out of it – a woman's hand, a foot, a furious face with windswept curls.

"Fools!" the wind howled, and Suraia gave a small squeak at the wheezy sound of it. Wind whipped outward like a shock wave, sending the hero flying in one direction and Flicker in another, and blasting all the snow and whirling debris away into the half-dead trees, which groaned with the force of the miniature storm. At the center of the burst stood a woman dressed in white furs and a swirling blue dress, those same curls fanning out in all directions.

Somehow, the sight of her set off the hero's friend. "You!" she cried, stepping out from the shop's entrance. "You – but you had the best reviews on the web!"

The woman smiled in their direction, showing too many teeth to make the expression friendly. Suraia clung tighter to the black-haired girl, and got a comforting squeeze back. "Of course," the woman hissed. "Expect nothing less from a goddess."

Suraia gasped without meaning to. Flicker had told her the gods were on _her_ side – powerful, honorable protectors who had looked after all the great empires of the West. These powerful beings weren't supposed to _attack_ her.

The older girl pushed Suraia back behind her, squared her shoulders, and planted her feet firmly apart. "What kind of goddess picks on a little kid?" she demanded, her free hand on her hip. Peeking out from behind her, Suraia could see flicker and the hero rising unsteadily. A gash above Flicker's head was sprinkling blood into the white snow, but her fangs were bared silently, and she advanced noiselessly on the smiling goddess. A few yards down, the hero was glancing around for the ski pole, which had landed in the swaying pines across the road. His friend must have seen them, too, because she gave Suraia's hand another squeeze that Suraia knew was supposed to be reassuring, but the girl was shaking too much for it to be totally effective. She knew, too, what the girl was going to do: give the hero and Flicker just a little more time to advance on the wind woman. "Pick on someone your own size, you – you coward!"

The woman rippled in an especially violent gust, and howled into the cloudy sky. Behind her, Suraia's hero was pulling something small and thin from his jacket and was staring at it with obvious confusion. Flicker glanced at him with some surprise – Suraia knew the wolf's expressions well enough to read the feeling from across the street – then advanced on her own. "I am Orithyia, queen of the mountain winds, and I will not be lectured by demigods!" the woman blustered. Suraia had just enough time to glance at the hero's friend, to see her own surprise echoed in the old girl's big, round eyes, before the goddess raised a hand and sent the two of them flying. They both screamed, but the other girl seemed to recover from the shock of it first, pulling Suraia toward her in a protective hug as they reached the peak of their launch and began plummeting toward the spindly brown trees. Suraia wailed with fear – after all those days running, after her wrecked home, her hero had come too late. She was still going to die. Underneath the sound of her own voice, she could hear the other girl shouting something that sounded like "Please oh please oh please oh—"

_Whump!_

They hit the trees with enough force to knock the air out of Suraia's lungs. She buried her face in the other girl's parka as they plummeted through the springy branches, terrified of the moment they'd hit the ground.

But it never happened. They stopped falling, stopped crashing through branches. She felt dull aches all throughout her body, but none of it as bad as the time she'd broken her leg or scraped her face open on a cinderblock wall. Next to her, she could hear the hero's friend taking in ragged, gasping breaths. Both of them were still clinging to each other and shaking violently.

Tentatively, Suraia lifted her head from the fur and down. The older girl's face was tear-streaked and her once-neat ponytail was filled with twigs and more bright green needles than most pine trees had around here. Her coat was torn and bloody, but she was nestled on the lowest branch of the largest tree in the grove, leaning against the trunk and holding tight to Suraia, who had ended up half in her lap and half on a pine bough. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she looked as scared as Suraia felt.

"We're safe," Suraia whispered, barely able to believe it. For some reason, that made the girl burst into tears again, though Suraia wasn't sure whether or not they were relief-tears. She hoped they were. She didn't think about it long: the sound of Flicker's snarling caught her attention, and she remembered – her hero! She scrambled out on the branch, peering through the lush, green branches at the three figures fighting in the street.

Her hero had found a sword, and was slicing windstorms apart with every slash. She had no idea where he'd found it or why he hadn't used it before, but now he looked more heroic than she'd ever dared to imagine: tall and dark with his long bronze sword shining even in the cloudy mountain light. He was only feet from where Flicker was making leap after leap at the goddess's impossibly white throat. As Suraia watched, entranced, he jumped onto an abandoned table and leapt down toward the last of the whirling storms, slicing it from top to bottom until it disappeared in a haze like gold glitter. The goddess winced and glanced his way, but it was too late – he was right behind her, and she was forced to pull a slender gold sword from her furs to block his attack. He let his sword slide down hers until he was right beside her, then elbowed her in the face, which Suraia thought was very effective if not as heroic as she'd hoped. The goddess shrieked and stumbled backward, but Flicker pounced from behind, digging her claws into the goddess's back and pushing back toward the hero. He plunged his flashing sword into her chest, sending gold liquid oozing from the wound. The goddess stared into the hero's eyes as he twisted the weapon, and even from her safe perch, Suraia could see the hatred in her pale face. "You will die," she whispered, the wind echoing with the words even as far as the pine grove. "Olympus. The gods. Heroes. All of you will die."

Her hero opened his mouth to say something, but the goddess's hand lashed out and planted itself on his arm, pushed, and disappeared with the rest of her in a puff. In a heartbeat, he was hurtling through the air, much, much faster and further than Suraia and the girl had gone. She saw him hurtle over the edge of the rocky outcrop she had Flicker had scaled this morning, and with a sickening feeling, she remembered the ice-cold stream they'd trekked along at the bottom.

Her hero had come, and she'd already lost him.

Suraia wailed loudly, putting all her disappointment and hurt into the sound of it. Her voice was met by a sound like a gunshot from up the mountain, a howl from Flicker, and – "No way!" gasped the hero's friend. She was scrambling to look in the other direction, _up_ the mountain, where Suraia could hear a low, churning rumble. "Avalanche!" she yelled, grabbing Suraia's hand and tugging her back to the trunk of the tree.

Her grief for her lost hero was replaced immediately by terror for her protector. "But Flicker—"

"Climb!" the girl ordered. She sounded so used to being obeyed with that voice that, after a quick glance backward, Suraia started climbing up after her, the tree creaking with every step. "Damn – beetles—!"

Above the thickest branches that had cushioned their fall, Suraia could see the wall of snow charging down the mountain toward them. "We won't make it!" she panicked, freezing up and cleaning to her branch.

"I won't—"

Suraia didn't hear the rest, because the avalanche took that moment to smash into their grove.

The strange thing was, the avalanche didn't go _into_ the trees so much as it went _around_them. The same branches that had broken their fall on the way in were strong enough to push the bulk of the snow around their little thicket, though the trees shivered as their interlocked bows rocked against the force of the avalanche. Suraia waited, unable to move, for the snow and noise to break through the pines, but that moment never came. The roar of the avalanched moved away down the mountain, and she was left several feet below the lip of a green-walled pit, wide-eyed and disbelieving. The other girl was up against the pine's trunk again, face cherry red and staring up at the circle of stormy sky above.

They stayed that way until the last of the noise from the avalanche died away. Suraia used one gloved hand for balance as she stood, and had to wipe her eyes with the other. "We should go," she said hoarsely.

It took a few second, but the hero's friend looked down at her and managed to speak. "In case of an avalanche," she said shakily, like she was reciting from a book, "you should make sure that you have air, then await rescue—"

"No!" It came out louder than she'd expected, and Suraia clasped her hands over her mouth as she said it. The last thing she wanted to do when she was this upset was lose control and set off _more_ avalanches. "We can't trust them," she whispered. "They could be monsters."

The older girl laughed , but it sounded more tired and crazy than anything else. "Monsters._Monsters._"

Suraia nodded emphatically. "Because we're demigods."

"Cut it out," the girl said, hiding her face in her hands. "First he forgets everything, then he fights a freak snow, and I almost _die_ twice—"

"The goddess said it," Suraia insisted. "She called you a demigod, too. And you were with my hero!"

"He's no hero," she muttered. "He's a troublemaker and he never listens to anyone and now he's got himself thrown over a cliff—"

"He _is_ a hero!" she scowled. "He saved us! And – I'm not going to waste it waiting for monsters to come!"

"Good choice," said a new voice.

There was a girl sitting in a branch just at the top of their pit. She was at least a few years older than Suraia, but probably younger than the hero and his friend, and she looked like she was ready for a fight. She wore shining armor over her winter gear, and she held a short sword out before her. At first, Suraia thought she was swinging her feet, but there were_wings_ attached to her white sneakers. She descended into their safe well, balancing on a branch and looking severely at both of them. "Suraia Aslami. We came to find you."

"We?" Suraia squeaked, more than a little intimidated by the armor. The warrior-girl snapped her a fingers, and a boy dropped in with them. He had the same flapping shoes as the warrior girl, but he made wearing them look completely effortless, like he'd been born with wings at his heels.

"I am Reyna Morales, Praetor of the Fifth Legion. This is Bobby Kimura of the Eleventh." He gave them a salute as he hung in mid-air, but the warrior girl pretty much ignored him. "You," she said, focusing intently on the hero's friend. "We did _not_ come looking for you. Who are you?"

Maybe it was Reyna Morales's sharp tone, but something about her seemed to bolster the other girl. "Camille Lee," she said, a little shakily, but she stood up straighter and regained the forcefulness she'd had yelling at the goddess earlier. "What is _wrong_ with you? You're dressed for the History Channel and – and you're _flying_ — "

"That's none of your business, mortal," Reyna said. "Don't worry. The Mist will take care of you soon enough. You can forget all about monsters and heroes and live a nice ordinary life."

"_Mortal_? Where do you get off—"

"But she's not a mortal," Suraia interrupted meekly. All three of them looked down at her, and she almost regretted speaking up. "The goddess called her a demigod."

Reyna and Bobby Kimura exchanged excited glances. "Juno was here?" Reyna asked eagerly.

"Um…"

"She called herself Orithiya," Camille replied. Suraia suspected she was pleased to know something the other girl didn't. "Goddess of the mountain winds. Which is insane, just so you know."

Reyna gave Camille a nasty glare that Suraia didn't really think was nice after everything Camille had been through saving her today. "There should be someone else," Reyna said finally. "What have you done with him?"

Suraia's heart sank. Of course they'd want to know what had happened to her hero. "The goddess threw him into the river," she said softly, pointing down the mountain."

Clearly, this wasn't what Reyna had wanted to hear. She took to the air in a heartbeat, darting down the mountain like an arrow. "Hey! Reyna!" Bobby was after her in a flash of white wings, leaving Suraia to scramble up the branches after them.

Their section of the resort had been covered in at least eight feet of snow, sealing off roads and buildings, and leaving tree tops sticking out like popsicle sticks. As she climbed above the snow level, she heard a familiar howl – Flicker was pacing on the roof of a squad restaurant, but dashed across rooftops and treetops as she caught sight of Suraia. By the time Suraia had blundered a few feet after Reyna, Bobby, and her hero, Flicker was at her side, sniffling all over for cuts and bruises. "I'm fine," she protested, "I'm better than you are, silly." But she sank her hands into Flicker's coat with relief anyway, glad to have her friend back at her side. "I just want to follow them."

_The heroes_, Flicker agreed, looking after them. _Their punctuality leaves something to be desired._

Suraia pulled back in surprise. "But I thought he…"

_I don't know him._

Camille pulled herself over the rim of their sanctuary as well. "And now," she said heavily, "there are talking dogs. Please let me wake up now."

_Talking wolves._ Flicker bared her fangs in a wolf-grin that sent Camille scrambling back down the branches. _You are more awake than ever, demigod._

Suraia couldn't tell if Flicker was teasing or trying to make Camille feel better, but the girl looked even worse, if that was possible. Suraia couldn't blame her. Her protector's odd way of making herself known – a mish-mash of movements and expressions, combined with the unnerving ability to speak directly into Suraia's head – had terrified her at first, too. "Demigod," Camille echoed weakly. "Please stop saying that."

Flicker barked a low chuckle. _For now, perhaps. But we must find your tardy extraction team._

Camille, in her pretty obvious terror of Flicker, was unsuccessful at convincing Suraia's protector that proper procedure after an avalanche was to stay in one place, but also refused to stay in their pine thicket by herself. Both of them waded behind the gray wolf to the edge of the access road Flicker and Suraia had used yesterday and up to exposed roof of an abandoned maintenance shed. There, they had a fair view of Reyna and Bobby scanning the snowfield for any sign of the hero.

_Look_, Flicker noted, nuzzling Suraia's cheek.

The river seemed to be cutting a path through the snow that had been dumped on top of it. It sliced a narrow valley out of the blank whiteness, marking the ground below with a dark, blue-gray ribbon.

And then the hero sat bolt upright in the water, looking dazed.

Suraia and Camille gave sharp cries of delight, which caught Bobby and Reyna's attention. They swooped down on the hero, pulling him from the river and into the air, though at one point Suraia thought she saw Reyna almost drop him. The three of them landed on the shed, and Camille flung herself at the hero, who was obviously dazed and didn't seem to take in anything Camille was telling him about being a lucky idiot and "never ever again." He kept patting his hair and clothes like he was looking for something. It took Suraia few minutes of Camille's talking before she realized what was bothering him. "You're not wet!"

He nodded. "Yeah," she said, sounding as surprised as she was.

Reyna glowered at him. "What have you done with Jason?"

Her hero frowned, so Suraia took his lead and frowned at Reyna, too.

She actually brandished her sword at him before Bobby nudged her and she resheathed it furiously. "Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, praetor of the First Legion."

"Like we'd know!" Camille protested. "We just tried to help a kid!"

Reyna stomped a foot in midair, which would have been funny if her tawny brown eyes weren't focused murderously on Suraia's hero. "I'll ask you again," she said sharply. "Where is Jason Grace?"

_No one has seen him, Fifth Praetor_, said Flicker, placing herself between Reyna and the hero. _The goddess Orithyia violated the ancient laws and attacked my charge. These demigods intervened on her behalf. Your duty is to provide safe passage to_castra_._ The warrior girl's hand went to her sword again, but fell away as Flicker growled. _Would you violate Lupa's prime directive?_

"Hey, hey, it's not like that, protector," said Bobby, speaking directly to Flicker like he was used to reporting to wolves. "Juno told her she'd find Jason here. He's been missing for three days. She's—"

"Don't say it," Reyna scowled.

He winced. "She hoped he'd be around."

"And instead, we find one untested girl, two _overage_ demigods, and no sign of Jason!"

Bobby crossed his arms and looked skyward. "Not exactly."

Reyna glared daggers, or maybe swords, at him. "Excuse me?"

"The buried boy – your clue to finding Jason. It's him."

She went very pale, glancing from Bobby to the hero and back again. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What do you know about Jason?"

It looked like Camille was going to go off at Reyna again, but the hero put a hand on her arm and shook his head before meeting Reyna's eyes. "Nothing," he said seriously. "And if you need me to find someone, you're seriously out of luck, because I don't remember anything."


	3. Chapter 3: Camille

**CHAPTER THREE: CAMILLE**

They were all nuts.

That Reyna girl kept insisting they had to leave for their magical fort place immediately, and Suraia and her psychic wolf friend had agreed. Camille would have happily let them, and their goddess, and their insane armor, and their holier-than-thou attitudes fly out of her life forever, except that Bobby and Reyna wanted Percy to go back with them.

"No," Camille protested. "He should go to a _hospital_."

"He's a demigod. He'll come with us." Reyna sounded like she was used to giving orders, but Camille wasn't going to let a stranger boss her around.

"I don't think you get to make that decision for him—"

"Camille." Percy was staring down the mountain at the widening creek. "It's alright."

Reyna smirked. Camille pursed her lips. "Percy. She's crazy. They're both crazy. I don't know_what's_ happening, but you're not part god, and I _won't_ let them walk off with you."

Suraia, wrapped tightly around her wolf, spoke up. "But he is! He's the hero we were waiting for!"

It was wrong to be this frustrated with an elementary school kid, especially one who'd just gotten thrown in the air and almost crushed by an avalanche, but Camille really wished the kid would have stayed out of this. Arguing with the flying delinquents was hard enough without Suraia turning those big brown eyes on Percy. "That doesn't make him a – a demigod!"

"Actually," Percy said, "it does." He finally turned away from the water and caught her eyes, giving her a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I know it kind of sounds like bragging. But she's right."

She reached for his hand, desperate for some way to help him realize that he'd gone from amnesia to delusions of Dungeons and Dragons. "Perce, you're all screwed up today. Let's go back to the hotel, get you to sleep…"

He squeezed her hand back, but shook his head. "You've been great. Seriously. But I think they're right about getting to a safe house."

"Now you think so? An hour ago you didn't remember anything!"

He shrugged, and she hated that he still looked so lost, because these people would use that to run off with him, and she'd be the worst friend in the world for not stopping him from wandering off with a pair of lunatics. "I'm doing a lousy job explaining, but I know they're right. I just don't know how I know it. Look, I don't want you to get in trouble with the school or anything, so I guess I can give you a note to take back to that dean—"

"Why?" Suraia asked. "Shouldn't she come, too?" The kid was obviously uncomfortable with the way everyone turned to look at her, because she sunk down behind her wolf buddy like she was deflating before she squeaked on. "Because she's a demigod…"

Reyna made and irritated _tsk_, but the creepy wolf started talking into their heads before she could say something else about how important and special her home base was. _It's the truth, whether or not you're ready to hear it. However…_ Ugh, it was licking its lips. _If will not leave your friend, it seems that your only option is to come with us. You will be free to leave at any time._

"And one of us will have to fly her home," Bobby grumbled, but he said it so softly that both Reyna and the wolf ignored him.

"It's a fair deal," Reyna said, like her word was the end of the discussion. "Let's go."

"Wait." Everyone else started to get up, but Camille wasn't done with this girl and her attitude. "I didn't agree yet."

Reyna just frowned. "Are you going to say no?"

She clung a little tighter to Percy's hand. "Of course not! But—"

"There are no buts. Bobby, how's the wind?"

The guy pulled a red string from his jacket and held it to the sky. Though the air was still now, the red string dipped and spun in circles and zigzags around his hand. "Not good," he announced. "There's still something in the sky."

_Orithyia_, the wolf growled.

He stared up like he expected that madwoman to pop out of a tree at any minute. "The last thing we want to do is catch a plane with an angry goddess hanging over the Rockies."

"So open Mercury's Way," ordered Reyna.

Bobby and the wolf looked surprised, and Camille was gratified to see that Percy and Suraia had no idea what the lunatic was talking about now. "That's dangerous—"

"Alec told me you were the best," Reyna said icily. "Should I let him know that the Eleventh's standards have slipped this far since the summer?"

"_Slipped_? I'll show you—"

"Time out," Percy said. "What are we doing?"

Bobby was too busy glaring at Reyna, and Reyna was too busy looking superior, so the wolf answered. _The ultimate crossroad, from which a child of Mercury may travel anywhere in the mortal world._

Percy's hand went to his head, and Camille was ready to tell the wolf off for messing with an amnesiac when he spoke up. "Mercury?"

"God of travelers," said Bobby crossly.

"You mean Hermes," Percy frowned, tugging his fingers out of Camille's to rub at the back of his opposite hand. "You'll open a door and…" He looked almost as surprised as Suraia had when everyone wound up staring at him. "What?"

"You shouldn't know that," said Reyna darkly.

"Tell me about it," Percy grimaced. "I can think of a million things I'd rather remember."

The wolf growled, which Camille hoped it would never do again, ever. "_This one is a strange demigod._"

Reyna nodded, and landed on the roof next to Percy. "The sooner we get this batch to Lupa," she said, giving Bobby another frosty look, "the sooner we can question them away from eavesdropping goddesses. Open the gate, Bobby. That's an order."

Bobby pulled a short sword from a sheath at his hip, and for a moment, Camille thought he was going to stab Reyna in the face. No such luck. He slashed a circle in the air, then some sort of quick pattern, and suddenly she was looking through a gash in the air a step off their shed roof that opened onto sunshine and a sea breeze. Suraia made a small noise of delight, but Percy went stiff as a board.

She realized that he remembered something about that wound in the sky, which was an impossible and insane thing, though he couldn't remember her or Woodley, when he'd been with her doing solid and normal and real things for months.

Her mind raced. It wasn't coincidence that these people had shown up on the exact day that he'd forgotten everything he was supposed to know, but started recognizing things that were clearly impossible and insisted that he was half god. These people had something to do with Percy getting sick. If they'd caused it, she'd make them fix it. If they could help, she'd have to make them give it their all. And she decided, then, that as terrifying as these people were, she wasn't letting Percy out of her sight around them until he was better, and they could go back to Woodley and being _normal_ friends. "Alright," she breathed, then got to her feet and added, more loudly, "Let's go!"

Percy gave her a surprised, but grateful, grin, and stood up with her. "We're ready."

Reyna smiled at them, but she might as well have been shouting _I knew you'd see it my way_loud enough to bring down another avalanche. Bobby mostly looked relieved that he'd pulled off the door to sunshine thing. "Right," he said, "from here, we just walk through to the _castra_."

Camille gulped. If she waited much longer, she thought, she'd chicken out and run back to the hotel without Percy. She took his hand again, and felt her heart beat a little faster as he interlaced their fingers, and together they stepped through the hole to some crazy new world.

Just as their feet left solid ground, she heard Bobby shouting "Not _yet_!"

They were so high that the ground below was a patchwork quilt of blue seas, green-gold hills, and wiry strips of gray road. She had a split second to register it as the view you only got out of an airplane before, for the second time today, she started hurtling to the ground.

This time she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this fall – from _thousands of feet up_ - didn't have a chance of ending as well as the last one. As the wind ripped through her hair, the tiny part of her that wasn't wild with fear took a small, wavering comfort from Percy, whose hand was still clasped tight around hers, who was pulling her closer like she'd done to Suraia only a little bit earlier. "—the ocean!" he shouted.

"What? No!" The memories Percy had yet to get back apparently included knowledge that they were going to die no matter what they hit, but he was staring at the great blue sea like it was a way out of inevitable, painful death, and there was no way she'd ruin the last few minutes of their lives giving him a science lecture. _You always were bad at physics…_ she thought, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. She didn't want to know when they were about to hit. It would be better to pretend they'd just fall forever, right? _But I'm glad we met, Percy._

They passed through a cloud, which was wet and sticky and a million times worse than she'd ever guessed clouds would be as she'd taken planes through them. She was verge of giving in to how unfair it was that dying had to be disgusting and just _screaming_ into Percy's ear again, but his grip on her slackened, and he said, without even shouting, "You can look now."

Oddly, it was easier to move her head now than it had been a moment ago, and the sound of the wind had died to almost nothing. Apparently, being in a cloud turned down the volume pretty seriously—

As she lifted her head, the realized that tthey weren't in a cloud at all. The sky was as clear and blue as she'd seen through Bobby's hole in the air, without the smallest of clouds in the sky. Instead, they were in… "A bubble," she gasped. "Percy. _Percy_. Why are we in a bubble?"

He had his nose pressed to the translucent golden side of the thing. Even now, he was fixated on the ocean as their bubble descended at a brisk-but-not-deadly speed toward the ground below. "I don't know," he said, not looking away from the horizon. "But it feels good to not be dying."

She should have laughed, but she didn't have the energy. Instead, she collapsed against him, and tried to will her heart into beating just a little slower. It didn't help when Percy reached out and put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close enough that she could hear _his_ heartbeat, too.

He was right. It felt good to be not dying.

Of course, knowing where they were would have been nice, too. Assuming that there wasn't a grade-A jerk in a control booth flipping virtual reality switches on them, the ocean to one side and the sun to the other meant that they'd jumped from Colorado to the west coast and, judging by the dried-out look of the hills, they'd probably jumped a good way south, too. She nudged Percy gently to yank his attention away from the sea, and pointed at something coming into focus beneath them. "Look what we're headed for."

They'd gone south, alright. They were floating directly over a large walled enclosure that was resolving into red tile and white-washed walls, all faux-Mediterranean and brightly colored, like any of the missions up and down the California coast. The wall was high and rectangular, neatly bisected by crossed roads and filled with equally tidy rectangular buildings and open yards. There was something about its orderliness that put her mind at ease – until the figures on the ground came into focus, at least.

People were pouring out of the buildings, swarming around two figures standing in the middle of the largest open green. As they got lower, she could see that most of the figures heading to the open area were wearing the same "my grandpa was an extra in _Ben Hur_!" getup as Reyna and Bobby. She'd have laughed if their costumes didn't come complete with swords, bows, spears, and things she didn't recognize, but knew she didn't want sticking out of her stomach. They ranged from elementary school kids to college students, and none of them looked friendly. "They're going to kill us," she said weakly.

Percy patted her on the back. "If they wanted us dead, they'd have let us crash land."

"Maybe they want it to hurt," she groaned, thinking of Reyna.

He got to his feet and helped her up, too. Standing on the sloping "bottom" of their bubble took a lot of careful balancing, but it was loads more dignified than crouching on the bottom of the thing. "Ready?"

"No," she said honestly.

He nodded. "That makes two of us." Camille had guessed that they'd hit the ground, but they wound up hovering a foot in the air while a bunch of angry-looking teenagers pointed sharp things at them. "We come in peace?" Percy offered, holding up his hands in a gesture that was either _don't shoot_ or _look, ma, no weapons_. "Take me to your leader?"

A scrawny middle schooler with electric blue hair popped out of the crowd. Unlike most of these punks, she'd missed the memo on the armor dress code, and was wearing a purple shirt and sweats over heavy workboots. The backpack over her shoulders could have belonged to any school kid, but the rips and stains on her clothes made her look like she'd lost a fight with an oil tanker. She peered at Camille and Percy for a moment, then cocked her head. A spindly gold _thing_ shot out of her backpack and pressed a monocle to one eye. Camille gasped loudly and clutched Percy's arm, and a couple of the delinquent gladiators snickers. She set her face back into her best authoritative student council president expression, but it didn't seem to phase the kid or her freaky monocle, which was flickering between lenses almost faster than Camille could follow. "Oh," Sweatpants said, frowning. "It didn't work."

"It did." Camille, Percy, and the crowd turned to look at a kid about Sweatpants's age, though this kid had enormous Shirley Temple curls and her junior-prep outfit belonged in a J Crew catalog, now surrounded by History Channel rejects. "It just caught a _new_ batch of trespassers."

Apparently, trespassing was a serious thing here, because the gang of kids jeered loudly. "Hey!" Percy shouted, "What part of 'we come in peace' did you miss?"

Sweatpants was pacing around the bubble now. "You're not aliens," she said dreamily. "You can't use that line."

Curls ignored her. "Then what _are_ you doing here?" She'd probably just hit her teens, but the severe look coming from behind those glasses belonged to a fifty-year-old librarian. But Camille could handle that. If there was anyone she wanted at her side to face off against librarians, it was Percy, the natural enemy of all overbearing teachers.

"We're following directions," he frowned. He had his stubborn face on, the one he pulled every time Dr. Plymouth accused him of botching a recitation on purpose. "They said 'walk through,' so we walked through – and almost _died_."

"They?" repeated Curls.

"Reyna Morales, Bobby Kimura," Camille said.

If the crowd had seemed interested in them before, it was nothing compared to the way they reacted to that particular tidbit. "Where are they?" "Did they find Jason?" "Does she know about the fire?" "Where'd Jason go?" "Did she hear what happened to Liz?" "Did she get my IM?" "So when is Jason coming back?" Camille thought the gang would pop their bubble and mob them, but Curls yanked something on Sweatpants's backpack that went off with a bang, and the kids backed off with a quick round of grumbling.

"You can say you're here on the Fifth Praetor's orders," said Curls, brushing soot off her sweater, "but she hasn't returned with you. Why?"

"Probably back in the mountains," Percy said, "instead of getting smashed into the beach."

"But that's where she was supposed to find Jason!" someone yelled, setting off another round of shouting.

"Well she didn't!" Camille had to give it her all to be heard, but it worked. "She got us."

"I'd rather have Jason," sneered a guy in the front row. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"Camille Lee," she said, as imperiously as she could manage. "And Percy…" That was strange. She couldn't remember her best friend's name. They made eye contact, but the look he gave her said that he didn't know, either. "From Woodley Prep," she finished lamely.

Curls nodded, though. "Camille Lee. Percy. How did you reach the _castra_?"

"Bobby opened some sort of hole," said Percy. Camille caught him rubbing his hand again, like some sort of nervous tic associated with Bobby Kimura. "They called it Hermes's Way."

"Mercury's," someone corrected.

Percy ignored her. "We went through and came out here."

Sweatpants and curls bobbed their heads simultaneously. "The Rockies are thousands of feet above sea level," sighed Curls.

"Bobby forgot the altitude shift," Sweatpants agreed.

"More like he wanted an excuse to fly home," called a girl, to the amusement of everyone except the preppy blonde ringleader.

"Dakota. Are they coming?" asked Curls, looking up at the sky.

Sweatpants – Dakota – blinked, and her monocle swapped itself out for a telescope. "Ah. Winged sneakers." She smacked the telescope and squinted. "Flicker. One more passenger. Not Jason."

"Another demigod," Percy cut in. "She was attacked just before those guys found us."

"Monster busting road trip!" someone cheered, but no one else seemed excited.

"The Fifth Praetor is in command while Lupa hunts," said Curls primly. "We'll wait for her."

Either these guys were big fans of Reyna, or they were used to being bossed around by middle schoolers in ballet flats, because no one objected. They just kept their eyes on the sky until a pair of dots appeared, then resolved into Reyna, carrying Suraia on her back, and Bobby, with the wolf in some sort of sling. Most of the kids cheered for them as they touched down, and a couple of them saluted, which Reyna and Bobby returned with snappy salutes of their own. Camille rolled her eyes, and Percy gave her a quick grin.

Suraia sprinted through the crowd to their bubble, pressing herself up against its shimmering surface. "You're alive!" she cried, her brown eyes big and excited.

As annoying as Reyna was, she was pretty obviously glad that Camille and Percy hadn't died on her watch, though Camille guessed she just didn't want to deal with extra paperwork or something. The armored girl slashed at their bubble with her short sword, sending Suraia scrambling out of the way, Percy stumbling to her feet, and Camille into an ungainly heap in the dirt. "Demigods," she said solemnly, "on behalf of the legions, welcome to Fort Palladium."

And though the rest of the kids started another round of cheering, when Camille looked up into Reyna's frustrated, angry, tired face, she had a sinking feeling Fort Palladium wasn't going to be welcoming at all.


End file.
